A demo.
Me on everything.
Beat is sequenced.
Auto-wah. Love it.

Thirst

An unusually grim effort from the early days of March 2020. 
A theme of general governmental distrust, societal collapse and a great hatred for a particular British tabloid would be a feature across a few things I've written this last few decades... 

HUFF

Flashback to March 20th, 2020.
A me had just bought a mini mixing desk, filled the fridge with a popular Mexican beer, and had a day without my family at home ahead of me. 
And the looming shadow of Lockdown (the superior original one) dwelling heavy on the mind.
So I meandered to the spare room, plugged in an SG, sank a couple of delicious, lime-enhanced libations, and slapped this together in roughly the time it takes to listen to it.

It's amazingly sloppy, and I'm happy with that.

Zoflora

Once again, written and performed by me.
Written being a loose term, as the song fell out of me once I pressed record like it had been hiding behind my teeth waiting for a chance to make a run for it.

Buyer's Remorse

Written on a rainy Saturday in May.
As usual, if it can be heard, I was the culprit.
Entertainingly, I've uploaded the song with no ending, just an abrupt stop and a minute or so of silence.
This tickles me, so it will stay like that and you can just imagine for yourself how the song would have ended.


Rainy May Saturday

A really stupid song, presented to my partner as a catchy rebuttal to her argument that we didn't need to sharpen the knives in our kitchen.

It sounds sort of sleazy and uncomfortable, which gives me a chuckle considering the subject at hand.

Overkill in a situation where perhaps sympathy would have been a better course of action, but when knife hands you melons, get music made.
(I'm sorry.)

Flesh

An on-the-fly thing based upon a riff I wrote in my teens. 
It has a fully fleshed and vocal twin, that might never see the light of day.

SCORES

Rattle (old acoustic demo)

Written on half of a peeled beermat at a busker's night in Sunderland in '97. 
It was not a great night out, but it did end with me getting punched by some dude who didn't like my lack of respect for John Lennon, so remains memorable all the same.

Loop

A noisy, stupid story about a fictional musician finding they can pop skulls like grapes with the power of feedback.
Written in the summer of 1994.

a night at the rock opera

A song to my then-unborn daughter.
Let out for air now that she's about to turn four.
Most of what you hear is me, with the exception of the babble which is supplied by my daughter.

"Just lay it down and forget about it"
-Bill Callahan

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